


Epilogue: A New Wardrobe

by roundelet



Series: Ardently [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, And angst, Body Image, Chubby Stiles, Disabled Derek Hale, Fluff, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Weight Gain, Weight Issues, and once again a little bit of hurt/comfort, but probably mostly fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 04:12:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10677438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roundelet/pseuds/roundelet
Summary: In which Stiles finally gets a new suit and Derek, obliviously but in great detail, appreciates his increasing weight."You want me to get new wardrobe?" Stiles repeats, brow furrowing. "Is mine not in fashion?""You'd have to ask my sister about that," Derek says. His lips twitch when Stiles vehemently shakes his head. "But I'm thinking more of the need for a better fit. You've put on some weight."





	Epilogue: A New Wardrobe

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little different from the main fic. It's focused on Stiles's weight gain. And Derek's oblivious chubby kink and admiration of his more generous midsection. It's mostly fluff with some body image angst (and obligatory Derek Hale angst, because Derek Hale) thrown in.

"I made an appointment at the tailor's in town today," Derek says.

"Oh yeah? Why?" Stiles asks through a mouthful of pastry. "Are you going to get fitted for something? Can I watch?"

"I was hoping for the opposite, actually," Derek tells him.

"The opposite?" Stiles asks. "You want to watch me get fitted?"

"Well, the watching would just be a perk," Derek says with a smirk. "But I thought we might get you a new wardrobe."

In truth, Derek feels guilty for not arranging for it earlier. On moving in with Derek after their wedding, Stiles had somehow managed to scrape together enough outfits that more or less fit him. But more or less fits has become definitely less in the almost two months since their wedding. He'd expected Stiles to bring up a need for a trip to the tailor's weeks ago. But, the more he thinks about it, he realizes that Stiles has been strangely reticent about spending money. Even despite the fact that he has taken charge of balancing the account books himself and must know they could purchase a dozen estates and still be in no danger of bankruptcy.

"You want me to get new wardrobe?" Stiles repeats, brow furrowing. "Is mine not in fashion?"

"You'd have to ask my sister about that," Derek says. His lips twitch when Stiles vehemently shakes his head. "But I'm thinking more of the need for a better fit. You've put on some weight."

Stiles's eyes widen and then he looks down at his plate and the half-eaten pastry there. Derek thinks it's his third or fourth. He hasn't been counting. He just makes sure that the maidservants bring a full enough selection every morning that Stiles doesn't go hungry after breakfast.

"I suppose I have," Stiles agrees, his hand on his slightly more generous midsection. Derek, for some reason, has difficulty looking away from the sight.

"Finish your breakfast," he tells him. "Then get your coat on and we'll go into town."

Stiles nods and stands up to do so, but leaves his half-finished pastry on his plate.

He meets Derek in the front hall a few minutes later. Derek pulls him in and kisses him because -- well, he doesn't have a good excuse for it.

But Stiles doesn't appear to have objections. His hands go to Derek's shoulders and he parts his lips so Derek can deepen the kiss. Derek would do this all morning, though he has a nagging feeling at the back of his mind that they can't. He tries to ignore it and circles his arms around Stiles's waist to pull him in closer. He feels his stomach press into his own. That's been happening more often lately. Which, unfortunately, reminds Derek of the purpose of why they can't stay here kissing all morning long.

So he pulls back and takes Stiles's hand, saying, "Let's go then. I arranged an appointment with the tailor for eleven o'clock."

"Fine." Stiles mutters as he follows him reluctantly out to the curricle.

Derek ensures Stiles doesn't slip as he gets into the passenger's side of the bench and then takes the driver's side of the carriage. Stiles puts up a token protest. But he knows he's not allowed to drive it. Not since the incident when he had somehow managed to get the reins tangled up and, when he attempted to disentangle them, scare one of the horses into running away.

It had been a long walk home, especially when it started to rain and the dirt road turned to mud. Not to mention the embarrassing conversation with his footman when Derek had had to explain why he needed him to go back and get the curricle. And also find their runaway horse. Boyd at least hadn't said anything, but he had raised a judgemental eyebrow.

However, the incident has provided Derek fodder for teasing Stiles ever since, so, in the end, it was worth it.

Today is a clear, sunny day. One of the advantages of being out of London and in the countryside. On the way through the fields into town, Stiles tells him, "We're not getting anything in too fancy a fabric. I don't want to spend all your money on clothes. I didn't even have a dowry for you."

Derek glances at Stiles.

"What? Why are you giving me your I'm-disappointed-in-you frown?" Stiles has taken to categorizing Derek's frowns. Derek's doing his best to ignore that fact, but can't help but know that Stiles is up to nine unique ones.

"It's not just my money," Derek tells him. "It's yours, too, you know. You're as much Lord Hale as I am now."

"Yes, and that hasn't been confusing at all. Seriously, who decided it was be a good idea to allow two gentlemen to marry?"

"King George. And you know I didn't care about a dowry," Derek continues. This is hardly the first time he's tried to tell Stiles this. "I didn't need more money. I just wanted you."

"Lord Hale, the romantic. Next thing you'll be composing love sonnets," Stiles teases him. But Derek catches a pleased smile on his face as he leans over to give him a kiss on his cheek.

 

 

The tailor's shop is next to the cobbler's, and Stiles comments on this.

"Didn't you say you needed your riding boots resoled? We could have brought them with us."

Derek had meant to bring them, actually. But he'd been distracted by Stiles's mentioning watching him getting fitted and the resultant visual that evoked.

So he shrugs and says, "I'll have Boyd bring them on his next errand to town."

The tailor's ready for them when they step inside. He guides Stiles to the back room and Derek follows.

"You don't need to come, you know," Stiles tells him.

"I believe you promised that I could," Derek says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure that's not how our conversation went, Lord Hale."

But he doesn't voice any more objections when Derek follows him to the back.

Derek takes a seat on the small couch and the tailor assists Stiles in removing his morning dress suit, leaving him only in his short breeches.

Derek takes in a sharp inhalation of breath, which Stiles must catch because he gives him a strange look. But Derek can't help it, not when he's taking in the image of his unclothed husband.

Perhaps joining Stiles back here was a poor idea, after all. Because now Derek has to struggle to contain his arousal.

It's not as if he's unfamiliar with Stiles's body. He's spent quite a lot of time, probably an excessive amount of time, becoming acquainted with it since their wedding. And had plenty of time to admire his figure from afar prior to their wedding.

But stripping off each other's clothes has tended to be a prelude to other activities. Derek hasn't had the opportunity to just take in the sight of him. He realizes now how much he's been missing out.

Because his husband is beautiful.

He's masculine with wiry muscles contrasted with soft curves. He's clearly holding in his stomach, but it still swells nicely outward. And the fabric of his breeches is stretched tight over his backside and thighs.

There are a few scattered moles over his stomach and back. A smattering of dark hair on his chest and more trailing down low to the waist of his breeches. Derek would like very much to follow that trail right now.

When he finally glances up, he catches Stiles looking back at him with a smug look on his face.

Then Stiles glances to the tailor, who's on his opposite side and eyeing him critically. Derek watches Stiles shift on his feet.

"We'll go with darker colors, a longer waistcoat and two-button style coats," the tailor finally says. "It should help to minimize your waistline."

Derek is surprised at the need for that, as Stiles has quite an attractive waistline, even if he is still pulling his stomach in. But he figures a slender profile is more in keeping with the current fashion, and Derek has never understood fashion, so he doesn't object.

Stiles wrinkles his nose at his reflection in the mirror, likely thinking the same thing, but just nods at the tailor.

The tailor proceeds to get his measurements, making notes after each one. He gets his upper arms and his thighs and inseam. He measure around his bottom, around the round curves that squeeze perfectly in Derek's hands.

Then the tailor has Stiles lift his arms so he can measure the width of his chest. The tape measure aligns right over the puffy mounds of his nipples. His nipples are hard and peaked. Even though Derek knows it's more likely from the slight chill than arousal, he wants to take them in his mouth anyways.

The tailor starts to loop his tape over Stiles's middle and Stiles is still obviously holding it in. Derek knows he's doing it out of habit in order to fit into his current suits. But the whole point of this is to get him a more comfortable wardrobe.

So he speaks up: "Stiles, you should relax your stomach or the fit will be too tight."

Stiles narrows his eyes at him, but does so anyways. It's where most of his new weight has gone and, with his stomach rounded out to its usual proportion, he cuts an even more enticing figure.

Though the tailor doesn't look as pleased, saying something about his waistline being harder to de-emphasize than he'd thought. Derek catches the slight flush on Stiles's cheeks at that and he frowns.

Stiles isn't all that big, really. More well-nourished than fat. His old suits have made him look bigger than he is and Derek thinks he must have been quite thin when they were first made, for how poorly they've fit him. But Stiles still is, undeniably, chubbier than when they met at the beginning of the Season.

After the measurements are done and the decisions made about the style and fabrics for his suits, Derek lists out for the tailor all that they'll need.

"He'll need new riding clothes, as well. And two or three suits in morning dress. And probably one in court dress, too, just in case," Derek directs the tailor. "And some new underclothes. Stiles, am I missing anything?"

"I don't need all that," Stiles tells him.

Derek turns back to the tailor.

"Make sure there's room to let them out," he tells him. "My husband has an appreciation for good food."

The tailor chuckles as he finishes writing down their order. "I can certainly see that, my lord."

The tailor then goes on to tell them that his new wardrobe will be delivered the next week before disappearing through the door to the back. Stiles doesn't say anything as he picks up his old suit to put back on.

Derek stands up and offers to help with the buttons but, though he's obviously struggling with them, Stiles tells him curtly that it's not needed.

 

 

Stiles is oddly quiet on the trip back.

"Is something wrong?" Derek asks him when they're halfway home.

"No," Stiles says, then looks away. "Maybe you can tell Cook to cut back my portions, though. The food here is clearly too rich for me."

Derek frowns at him. "But you always finish everything she serves."

"Yes, and that's the problem, isn't it?" Stiles says curtly. Derek glances at him in confusion, and doesn't catch the pothole in the road in time to drive the horses around it. Stiles grips the handrail at the sudden lurch, but continues, "We have barely been married two months and I've already outgrown my wardrobe."

"But your suits hardly fit before, either," Derek points out.

"Thanks for that," Stiles says dryly. But then sighs. "If I'm to keep on going like this, I'm only going to get fatter."

Derek frowns over at him, still confused. It's obvious that Stiles will put on more weight if he continues to indulge the way he normally does. But he doesn't see what the problem is.

Stiles continues with an unamused laugh, "But you know that, of course. My new clothes aren't even made yet and you and the tailor are already making plans to have the seams taken out."

"You say that like it's a problem," Derek says.

Stiles sighs loudly. "Well, I suppose it's practical, at least. I guess it's not fair of me to be surprised you'd think of that. But you had been kind enough not to mention my figure until today."

"What?" Derek asks.

"Look, it's not as if I don't feel bad for getting fat. Especially when you're so perfect and fit. But you didn't say anything so I thought you might not have minded too much."

Derek's thoroughly confused at the direction of this conversation. He asks, "Mind what? That you've put on a few stone?"

"It's one or two at the most," Stiles says. "Wait. You think I look like I've put on more than that?"

Derek knows that it's certainly more than that, especially as he'd already been carrying an extra stone or two when they'd met. But he thinks the better of pointing that out. He finds himself lost in thought trying to figure out why Stiles is so upset when he realizes he's already driven them all the way to their drive. Stiles jumps down from the carriage, stumbling a little on the landing.

Derek steps down, too, less clumsy even with his bad leg. Without saying anything, Stiles has begun walking briskly back to the house. Derek wants to call out to him to wait, but doesn't want to draw attention to the fact that he can't up with him. So he lets him go on.

 

 

He knew he'd regret calling for Erica when she laughed for a solid minute after hearing his account of the morning. But the only other servant he'd grown up as friends with was Boyd and he suspected that he'd laugh, too, but wouldn't follow that up with anything useful to say on the matter.

"Well, of course he's upset, but he can hardly deny he's getting plump," Erica says when she stops laughing at him. "Did you finally suggest he keep a better watch on his diet, too?"

"Of course not," Derek says, staring at his assistant cook across the table in the study. Reference books and loose papers of notes from Stiles's University thesis are scattered over the table. He takes drink of his brandy. "And what do you mean, 'of course he's upset'?"

"No one likes being told they're fat," Erica informs him. Derek wonders if she speaks from experience. Her profile is more voluptuous than he remembers from before he left for the War. But it suits her almost as well as Stiles's figure suits him.

"But he's not fat," Derek protests. "Though I'm sure he'd still look as good if he was."

"Oh my god, Lord Hale," Erica says with an eye roll. "You are so disgustingly smitten with him, aren't you?"

"Everyone knows our marriage was a love match," Derek tells her shortly. "Now, are you going to give me any useful advice or will I have to ask Boyd?"

Erica laughs, tossing her blond hair over her shoulder. "Please, please ask Boyd. I'd like to see that."

"Erica."

"All right, relax," she tells him, finally sobering up. "Look, maybe you think he looks good, but he obviously doesn't."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"My lord, are you going to argue or listen?" Erica asks.

Derek crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. Erica dips her teacake and takes bite before continuing.

"You need to tell him that you like how he looks," she says.

"But I already told him that."

"You did?"

"Yes. Right after we married. I told him I liked his figure and, when he mentioned he might gain more weight, I told him it wouldn't bother me."

"But that was weeks ago," Erica says.

"So? Do you think he's forgotten?" Derek asks. Stiles has a sharp mind, too sharp a lot of the time, so he doubts that.

"No," Erica says slowly. "But have you not reminded him of it since? He has filled out a bit more since then."

"But he has no reason to doubt I'm attracted to him," Derek tells her.

"Yes, I and everyone else in this household are far too aware of that," Erica says, rolling her eyes again. "But, look, I know this is a hard concept for you, but sometimes you have to use your words."

He glares at her.

Erica waves her hand at him. "So go already. Tell him he's the sexiest not-so-little thing you've ever laid your eyes on and then make sweet, tender love to him until he forgets what an idiot of a husband he has."

"Erica," Derek says in a warning tone.

"What?" She blinks innocently. "You said you wanted my advice."

 

 

Derek's quest to find Stiles is delayed when his leg cramps and locks up and he has to take an embarrassing rest at the top of the stairs.

He's starting to regret not bringing a cane on their earlier outing. He still uses it on their morning constitutionals but he's been trying to go without it more often lately. It means his leg has been giving him more trouble, but, for as much as Stiles has protested that he doesn't care, Derek still prefers not to remind him more often than he must that he's married a crippled man.

He was the one who came up to look for Stiles. But, of course, given Derek's luck today, he's still clinging to the bannister when Stiles finds him instead.

"Derek?" Stiles asks. Derek watches his eyes widen in concern. "Are you all right? Is it your leg?"

"I'm fine," Derek says through gritted teeth.

"You're not fine," Stiles tells him. "You should lie down. Where's your cane? Never mind. Here."

Stiles grabs his arm and loops it over his shoulders. Derek gives a resigned sigh but knows he doesn't have room to protest as Stiles takes his weight and guides him into their bedroom. Once Derek is settled on the bed, Stiles turns and start rummaging through their drawers.

"I swear we had some of Deaton's poultices here," Stiles mutters.

"Not anymore," Derek says.

"Did you move them? Where to?" Stiles asks. But as he turns to face Derek again he must see something in Derek's expression because he sighs and says, "You used them all, didn't you?"

Derek crosses his arms in lieu of a reply.

"Seriously? And I thought you weren't using your cane as much because you were getting better," Stiles says, throwing his arms wide. "I should have known it was just your stupid pride."

"I am getting better," Derek argues.

"Not if you're having to use all of the poultices!" Stiles exclaims. "I'm writing Deaton. I'm going to tell him we need a house visit. And I'll require a signed and notarized letter from him before I let you go anywhere without your cane from now on."

"Notarized?" Derek asks.

Stiles stares at him flatly.

"You look very nice like this, you know," Derek tells him after a long moment of silence.

"You don't have to say that. And stop trying to distract me," Stiles says. But then he sighs and continues, "I overreacted, anyways. I know I'm getting fat. You weren't even complaining about it. You're too kind to me sometimes. I shouldn't be mad at you for just stating a fact."

Derek sighs and thinks about the instruction Erica had given him to use his words. So he holds out his arms and says, "Stiles, come here."

Stiles eyes him suspiciously for a second, then climbs onto the bed beside him.

"I like how you look, Stiles," Derek tells him, making careful eye contact. "I like how your softer parts feel. I like feeling the weight of your stomach, even though you seem to usually stop me from touching you there for every long--"

He pauses as a realization comes to him. He is, apparently, an idiot.

"Wait, are you self-conscious? Is that why you stop me when I touch your stomach?"

Stiles glances down and gives his middle a bashful pat. He says, "Well, it's gotten pretty big. It's embarrassing."

"Should it be embarrassing how much I like how big it is, then?" Derek asks. Stiles has gotten rid of his jacket and waistcoat, leaving him in untucked shirtsleeves. Derek slips his hand underneath and rubs up the warm, plump curve of his stomach.

Stiles bites his lip, even as the corner of his mouth tries to twitch into a smile. "You probably should be."

"What if I wouldn't mind if it got a little bigger?" Derek asks. He gently squeezes one of his love handles.

Stiles shakes his head and gives him a small smile. He tells him, "You should definitely be embarrassed about that."

"Hmm," Derek murmurs.

Stiles balances his weight on his arms as he leans over Derek to give him a tender kiss.

"We can be embarrassed together, then," Stiles tells him.

"I can live with that," Derek says, and kisses him back.

 

 

It's a few months later and Stiles has put on only a few more pounds. He fills out his suits a little more, though not enough to require that they be taken out. Derek finds himself oddly disappointed in this fact, though he's not sure why.

He's making an effort to talk more, if only to spite Erica, who keeps making aspersions on his lack of vocabulary. So he mentions this to Stiles one morning as they walk through the woods on the edge of the estate.

"Are you saying you actually *want* me to get bigger? Why? Are you concerned the tailor is going to go out of business?" Stiles asks. Autumn leaves crackle under their feet and Stiles looks adorable -- though Derek knows better than to tell him that -- bundled up in a thick woolen scarf.

"I'm just surprised," Derek says.

Stiles raises his eyebrows at him and points out, "Well, our constitutionals have gotten longer lately. And I did ask Cook to cut back my portions to a more normal size."

"I know."

Stiles and Deaton have been conspiring to keep Derek from pushing himself in his exercises. He hates to admit it, but apparently their strategy was more effective than his own. Derek's leg has finally been healing, which means he can take longer walks with Stiles in the morning now.

"And I'm sure I have put on a few pounds, anyways," Stiles is saying.

"I know."

Stiles laughs. Derek rolls his eyes, because he's sure it's at least partly at him.

"I don't think you have anything to worry about, anyways," Stiles continues. "Winter's coming up with the holidays. And then we'll be back in London for the parliamentary session. Laura will drag us to all the balls and I'll eat my fill of pastries at every one."

Derek raises his eyebrows.

"Watch," Stiles continues. "I'll put on another stone or two in no time and you'll regret your words but I'm finally too big for you."

He knows Stiles is joking, but there's a hint of insecurity in his tone. So Derek stops and pulls Stiles back to him with the hand that isn't on his cane.

Derek leans in, eyes on his, and says, "You'd be beautiful with another couple stone."

"Would I?"

"Undoubtedly." Derek presses a kiss to his lips and gives the side of his stomach a soft pat where it pushes out his heavy wool coat. When he pulls back, he adds, "We're not letting my sister drag us to every ball this year, though. I only allowed it last year for the excuse to court you."

"With desserts?" Stiles asks skeptically.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" Derek says.


End file.
